


Some Things are Forever

by Incantation67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death (Charlie), Death (Jessica), Death (John), Death (Kevin), Family Consistency, Family Loyalty, Forgiveness, Gen, Implied Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incantation67/pseuds/Incantation67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of friends and I gave each other a summer project:<br/>"Write a short story from the point of view of the Impala"<br/>We wanted to get it written before Robbie Thompson's "Baby" episode aired.<br/>This was my contribution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things are Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
>  
> 
> Important departure from the show:
> 
> I went with the scenario in "In My Time of Dying" where John gives his life to save Dean; that's how he dies. BUT, I do not have the Impala smashed beyond recognition right before that (which, on the show, is why they are all in the hospital in the first place). I have John driving the Impala behind Sam and Dean who were in John's truck and the truck is destroyed, but the Impala remains intact.
> 
> I also messed around a little with the immediate aftermath of Kevin's death.
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

He's sitting with his head down on his arms; arms resting on my steering wheel.  I know it's him because of the weight.  I'm parked outside a hospital and he's been in and out of me all night long.  I can tell he's trying to figure something out.  Something big.  There's something wet falling on my seat between his thighs.  Shit.  He's crying.  

 

I haven't seen the kids in a few days.  I guess I shouldn't be calling them "kids" anymore. They're bigger than he is now.  It's been years since Dean practically broke a spring in my back seat with the first girl he brought in here, and there have been a lot of girls since then so, no, they're definitely not "kids" anymore.  

 

We were following them; they were driving John's truck because John wanted Dean to have access to the weapons stashed everywhere inside the cab, just in case, and John was driving me.

 

We watched, feeling sick and helpless as a semi plowed into the truck in the blink of an eye.  John screaming " _NO!"_ at the top of his lungs.

 

I wanted to carry them to the hospital, I did, but John talked to the EMTs on the phone, and they told him not to move them; to wait for the professionals, so that’s what he did and the boys were loaded into the ambulance.  I knew it wasn’t going to be good when it took so long to get them out of the unrecognizable wreckage that had been John’s prized pickup.

 

I had no problem keeping up with the speeding ambulance, that's for sure.  I knew that the most precious things in the world were inside.  It was probably good they had been driving the truck, God rest its soul...it had airbags.

 

"You gotta take care of them."  He's talking now.  Talking...to me?  He does that sometimes, but it's been awhile.  "Dean'll take good care of you, I promise."

 

So he's going to give me to Dean.  I might have guessed Sam, since Sam was actually conceived in here, but Dean's the oldest, and he's nice to me when he's not using me to get girls.  Keeps me clean and full and lubed.  Well, with some help from Bobby.  Bobby sneaks in and double-checks Dean's work when Dean doesn't know it.  I have lots of people looking out for me.  I can live with belonging to Dean.  He's good at taking care of things.  He's taken care of Sam forever.  He can take care of me too.  

 

Sometimes you spend so much time with someone that you can't imagine your life without them.  That's how it is with me and John and Dean and Sam.

 

Now he's looking around.  Looking around the way you look at something that you want to sear into your memory forever.  He sighs heavily.  "He's my son," he says quietly, mostly to himself.  "None of this is his fault.  Stupid, idiotic revenge.  I have to fix this.” He's getting out now.  But, he'll be back, right?  Like I said, he's been in and out of me all night long.  I'll just wait.  I wish I could ask where he's going.

 

*****

 

It's dark.  I've been out here for what feels like days.  My doors creak open – it’s a new creak because no one has had time to time to oil me – and Dean slides in, then Sam.  But where's John?  Sam and Dean aren't saying a word.  They're sitting on my bench seat like two bags of concrete.  I'm so relieved that they are okay.

 

Suddenly, they're in the middle, arms around each other.  My seat is shaking a bit. They're...what are they doing?  They're crying.  Both of them?  Where's John?

 

"You know we gotta get him, right Sammy?"  I can hardly hear what Dean is saying; it's like he can't get any air into his lungs.  Sam says nothing back, just nods.  "We never leave anyone behind," Dean states with conviction and more than a small dose of what I can only describe as grief.  With that, Dean is firing me up and hitting the gas.  Geez, don't give me any time to warm up or anything....

 

My brakes get slammed on.  Hard.  Next thing I know, there's something in a bag being laid gently across my back seat.  I know that weight.  It's John.  But it's not John.  I'm confused.  Sam and Dean still aren't talking and what the fuck is going on right now?

 

*****

 

I guess they didn't want to have to carry him very far.  The heat from the fire is almost igniting my entire right side.  It's in danger of peeling some of my skin off – at least blistering it – but I really don't care.  I can't believe he's gone.  They can't believe it either.  From what I can tell, he gave his life for Dean's.  Of course he did.  John could be strict, but I knew him better than that.  I remember the way he touched Mary when they moved as one in my back seat; how gentle he was with her.  They truly loved each other, John and Mary.  I remember how happy he was when they brought Dean home from the hospital; their first son; the reason they got married, but not the reason they stayed together.  Dean was strapped into the car seat and he was squirming to be free even back then.  He was an only child for a few years and he learned how to be okay by himself; to calm himself, sleep alone at night...at least until Sam came along.

 

I remember how proud John was of both of his sons when they brought Sam home from the hospital.  How he kept checking the rear view and how Dean never let go of Sam's tiny hand as he sat, dwarfed, in the car seat that had carried his brother home four years earlier. John had cleared his throat, looked at Dean's expression of wonder and fear over this new creature, and informed him, "Dean, you're not a baby anymore.  You have to look out for Sam.  Do you understand?"  

 

Dean responded with a small, "Yes, sir," and that was how it was from that day forward.  

 

With me and John, it was love at first sight.  As I understand it, he was supposed to buy something much more practical than me – at least that’s what it sounded like from the way Mary lit into him when he first brought me home – but he laid eyes on me and that was it. We've been together ever since.  Luckily, Mary came around eventually.  I've always taken my job seriously; keeping them safe.

 

I don't think I'll ever get this horrible smell of smoke and flesh out of my vents.  I need some open road and some clean air.  I don't want to leave John here, but I could tell that he was already gone when they laid him across my back seat.  Sitting here feeling nostalgic for ashes isn't going to help anyone.  I'll never have another like him.

 

John was where it started, my bond with this family, but it was only the start.

 

____________________________________________

 

Even though I belonged to John, Bobby was the one who really taught Dean how to take care of me. 

 

Bobby is driving me.  He and Dean just worked on my brakes and they've got me out for a test drive.  Gave me some tires too; my new shoes feel good and I'm sticking to the corners like nobody's business.  Dean lets out a whoop when Bobby takes a curve particularly hard and even Bobby is cracking a smile and chuckling at Dean's obvious enjoyment.

 

John left Sam and Dean here again to go off on a trip with Caleb in Caleb's truck.

 

Dean's about fourteen and loves cars so he loves staying here.  The carcasses all around me at Bobby's kind of creep me out; it's like an open-air crypt, but Bobby always seems to have everything he needs to take care of me.  His yard is full of organ donors.

  
Sam's about ten and not at all interested in anything mechanical including me.  Last I saw him, he was taking a pile of library books out of my backseat and heading into Bobby's house.

 

"Hey Bobby," Dean asks.

 

"Yeah, kid?"

 

"Uh, is there something you have to do on Friday?"

 

Bobby frowns, "Why'd ya ask?" he raises and eyebrow and looks over at Dean.  "Somewhere you gotta be on Friday?"

 

"No," Dean looks down.  "Sam saw it marked on the calendar and asked me why."

 

Bobby's lips are tightly pressed together.  He sighs quietly, "Noticed that, did ya?"

 

Dean quickly steals a glance over at him.  "I uh, I remember that things were kinda bad around this time last year."  He rubs his hand quickly through his hair. 

 

"Probably got drunk last year, didn't I?" Bobby sounds tired and a bit guilty.  "Must've gotten drunk enough that you remember it a year later."

 

"Yeah."  Dean looks up at Bobby.  "Sam and I didn't see you for a few days...was it because of what day it was?"

 

"Yeah, kid, somethin' like that."

 

A stony silence settles in.  The only sound is my engine as Bobby puts me through my paces.

 

"It have anything to do with Karen?"  Dean's question is asked so softly, but it still causes Bobby to swerve across the center line for a second.

 

"And what in the hell do you think you know about that, boy?" Bobby isn't hiding his irritation.

 

Dean shrugs, "You have that picture in your room...in the frame...the pretty lady...it says 'Karen' on the back - " Dean suddenly stops talking, realizing he's probably said too much.

 

"And what in the hell were you doing in my room taking things apart?!"  Bobby is driving faster as his irritation increases.

 

Dean looks supremely guilty.  "Sorry," is all he can offer.

 

"Well I don't need two rug rat idgits poking around in my room.  You know good and well it's off-limits!  Christsake, Dean, I have loaded rifles in there and you know that!"

 

"Yes sir.  Sorry, sir." Dean is staring straight ahead.

 

Bobby sighs heavily, but he's not speeding along quite as fast now.  "Karen was my wife."

 

Dean's mouth drops open. 

 

"Ya don't gotta look so shocked," Bobby grouses.  "I wasn't always like this."

 

"Like what?  There ain't nothing wrong with you," Dean looks confused.  He always picks up Bobby's speech patterns when we stay here.

 

"The general public might beg to differ," Bobby responds wryly.  "I used to take better care of myself.  Back in the day, I was more deserving of a good woman than I am now.  Ain't worth much now.  Definitely ain't nothin' to look at."

 

"Did she die?" 

 

"You don't beat around the bush, do ya kid?"  Bobby takes a quick glance over at his curious passenger.  "Yeah, she died."

 

"Like mom," Dean states it like it's a fact.

 

"Yeah, like yer mom," Bobby is turning into his long dirt path of a driveway.  He doesn't bother to signal.  We haven't passed a single car the entire time we've been out.

 

"I'm really sorry Bobby," Dean's voice is low.  "Dad acts the same way, you know, he drinks or he leaves, around the time he and mom got married.  That what Friday is for you?"

 

"Yup," Bobby says with finality.  Then, kind of mumbles to  himself, "Well, no one ever said life was fair."  We're pulling to a stop now.

 

Dean looks like he's not quite sure what else to say as he processes this new information.  He opens my door but Bobby doesn't move.  "I'll be in in just a minute, kid," Bobby says, "just wanna give those lug nuts one last go with the wrench."

 

"I can help - "

 

"No, you go inside.  Sam's probly wonderin' where we ran off to." 

 

Dean nods and gets out, walking slowly towards the house, pausing to take one concerned look over his shoulder before going inside.  The screen door smacks the frame behind him.

 

Bobby rests his head on top of his hands on the steering wheel.  He's talking to himself.  "John, what in tarnation am I supposed to do with these two, huh?  I just ain't cut out for this."  He sits in my silence for a few minutes.

 

Suddenly, the side door to the house is flung open, the screen door hitting the peeling and weathered siding with a loud _BANG_.  Bobby jumps at the noise.  Sam is running towards me.

 

My passenger door is tugged wide and ten-year-old Sam is scrambling across the seat and flinging his arms around Bobby's neck.  "What's all this?" Bobby asks quietly, tentatively putting an arm around Sam's lanky shoulders.

 

Sam's head is buried in Bobby's neck, but he's right next to Bobby's ear so Bobby has no problem hearing him.  "Dean told me," he whispers.

 

"Well that took longer than I thought it would," Bobby's voice is all sarcasm.

 

Sam pulls away and Bobby can see that the kid has tears in his eyes.  "You had someone.  Someone who died like my mom." 

 

Bobby pulls Sam close, "Yeah, kiddo, I did."  Sam is sniffling.  "It's okay Sam, I'm okay.  It's gonna be okay."  Sam always was the sensitive one.

 

"I love you, Uncle Bobby," Sam's holding on tight.  Now it's Bobby's eyes that are filling with tears, but they aren't the sad kind.

 

"You too, kiddo, you too."

 

My back door swings open and Dean drop down onto my back seat.  "Sorry, I uh, tried to stop him."

 

"You ain't so great at keepin' news to yourself, are you?" Bobby regards Dean in the rear-view mirror.

 

Dean ignores him.  "So, uh, Bobby, I was thinkin', how 'bout me and Sam take you out on Friday night?"

 

"You two wanna take  _me_ out?"  A small smile is curling at the corner of Bobby's mouth.  "And what do you propose using for money?"

 

"I got resources!" Dean shoots back.

 

" 'Resources', huh?"  Bobby huffs, disbelieving, "I don't recall any of your 'resources' bein' available the last time we were out buyin' groceries."

 

Dean's voice has an edge to it, "We ain't charity cases!"

 

"Dean," Sam hisses quietly. 

 

"You couldn'tna sounded more like your dad if you tried just then, son."

 

Dean rolls his eyes, "Look, I got a little bit saved just, you know, just in case," Dean and Bobby both know that John is sometimes too busy tracking down a lead to be overly-concerned with leaving them enough money for a week's worth of food when they're stuck in a motel.

 

Bobby relents, "That's smart kid; you gotta think ahead."

 

Dean nods, "I just, you know, we'd just like to take you out on Friday; maybe to the Sizzler or somethin', but, uh, you'd have to drive."

 

"Well, I ain't no charity case neither," Bobby leveled his gaze at Dean in the mirror, "so as long as I have to drive, I accept your offer.  I drive, you pay." 

 

Sam scoots back over to the passenger side and smiles wide enough to break Bobby's heart.

 

"Deal," Dean said with finality.  "C'mon Sam, let's see what we can find in the fridge.  Bobby's gotta check the tires."

 

Sam nods and readily follows Dean back into the house.  When he catches up to Dean, Dean slings an arm around his shoulder and Sam puts an arm around Dean's waist.  Dean is still the taller of the two, but that won't last.

 

Bobby slowly straightens up from my driver's seat, stiffly stepping out into the chilly fall air.  The last thing I hear him say is, "I don't know what I'd do without those boys."

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Six months after the bonfire consumed John's body, I still think about him.  I don't think I'll ever _not_  think about him.  John loved me like you love a best friend.  Dean loves me like, well, like he loves Sam.  I've known it for a long time.  Ever since that night when he first climbed into the backseat with that first girl...he could not have been more than sixteen.  John had loaned me to him for the night.  I remember feeling a barely-there piece of fabric flutter to the floor (girls always seem to wear the most impractical clothes) and heard what I was pretty sure was kissing (I remembered John and Mary in my back seat, after all).  

 

Everything stopped when the girl said, "Why do you drive such a weird old car anyway?”

 

I could feel Dean tense right where he sat.  Then he was picking the fabric up off the floorboard, handing it to her, and saying, "This was a mistake. I don't think we should do this tonight," voice tight.  

 

She looked at him like he'd lost his mind.  "What'd I do?" she asked, completely thrown off-guard.  

 

"Nothing.  Forget it.  I'm gonna drive you home," came the reply.  

 

She stormed out, slamming the door, then yanking open my front passenger side and planting herself on my seat with an angry huff.  Dean had gone cold to her and calmly drove her home in silence and without emotion.  I never saw that girl again.

 

Of course that wasn't how he’d planned the night would go.  Once she'd stomped her way out of my front seat and stormed towards her house, Dean drove me for awhile and we ended up parking in a dark turn-off.  Dean shook his head, let his hand drop, and gave his body what it had been expecting but had never received.  We also had to stop at the drug store so he could get some stuff to give my seat a good cleaning after that.  If he had returned me in less-than-pristine condition, John would have killed him. 

 

Dean always lets his mouth get ahead of his brain when he loves something.  I've seen it happen so many times when he thoughtlessly talked back to John in an attempt to defend Sam and got smacked for his efforts.  I love John, but the man never knew how to talk things out.  Thank God, for Dean's sake, Sam does.  Dean defended me to that nameless girl without thinking, without even caring about what he wanted for himself that night.

 

That's when I knew he loved me.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

I'm Sam's home too.  He even chose me for one of the most important moment in his life.  I remember it like it was yesterday:

 

Sam is sliding into the driver's seat.  He's so tall.  Even taller than he was the last time I saw him a year ago.  He quickly reaches down and pulls the lever to slide my seat back like he's never been away at all.  He looks around a bit wistfully and then smiles as the passenger door opens and a shapely blonde woman sits down.

 

"You sure your brother's okay with you borrowing the car?" she asks, concerned.

 

"Dean?  Sure, he's totally cool with it.  I have a feeling he'll be at the bar down the block for a few more hours."

 

"Is he some kind of alcoholic or something?"

 

Sam snorts, "Not last I checked, but with him, you never know."

 

"How come you never talk about him?" Now she's scooting over and putting a hand on Sam's thigh, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

 

"We didn't leave on great terms when I left for college."

 

"Where did he go to school?"

 

"Uh, he didn't.  Not traditional college anyway," Sam is trying to skirt the question.

 

"So, like, community college?" she persists.

 

"Yeah, something like that," he replies as he turns the key in my ignition and I roar to life, happy to see him again.  "I wanna take you up to the overlook."

 

"You know, we already live together...we have a perfectly good bed," she teases him.

 

"I'm going to hold you to that later," Sam is smiling a relaxed smile.

 

"I'm counting on it," she playfully stretches up and kisses his neck.  He lets out a small groan and decides it's safe enough to drive with just his left hand, his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

 

Soon we're rolling to a quiet stop.  It's beautiful up here.  There are stars everywhere; stars up in the sky, stars spread out down on the ground below.  Everywhere, lights.

 

Sam turns to face the woman next to him and pushes her hair back out of her face so he can get a better look.  She gently reaches up and does the same thing to him, eliciting a small, self-conscious smile.  "I love you so much, Jess."

 

"I love you too," she's smiling up at him with warmth and acceptance.

 

Sam fidgits in his seat.  "I want to keep loving you," he's looking into her eyes and I've never seen him more sincere.

 

"I'm not going to stop you," she smiles, then gets serious when she sees that he is getting a bit nervous, "are you okay?"

 

Sam huffs out a breath like he doesn't even have the words, "I've never been more okay," he says quietly. "Our life is so...so..." he searches for the right word, and right word is so ordinary, yet so elusive for him, "happy."  Sam shakes his head slightly in disbelief.

 

She looks confused, "Well, I hope it's always happy.  I mean, that's what you do when you're in love; you make each other happy.  You make me happy, Sam Winchester."

 

Sam swallows hard.  He reaches into his jacket pocket.  He pulls out a box.  Her eyes go wide.  "Jess, I know we haven't been together that long, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life.  I know we need to finish school first, but, I'm not going to be more sure three years from now.  Jessica Lee Moore, will you marry me?"  Sam places the box, closed, in her hand.

 

Her other hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, and she's wrapping her arms around Sam's neck and pulling him down for a kiss, she never even opens the box, and she whispers "Yes."

 

*****

 

My windows are fogged by the time they are rearranging their clothes and brushing back their tangled hair. She interlaces her fingers with Sam's and brings them to her lips to kiss them.  Her hand is so small in his. 

 

"You gonna tell your brother when we get back?" she asks.

 

"Not yet," Sam replies.  "I just gotta help him go find our dad and then we'll both tell him.  Together."

 

She's beaming.  "I'd like that."

 

Now Sam's face is lit up like the Fourth of July as he fires me up and we head back to the apartment.  Sam feels loose and light and peaceful in my seat.  He'll never feel this way again.

 

*****

  
A few days later, there is smoke filtering into my vents.  Dean is dragging Sam towards me.  He's fighting him and it's taking all of Dean's strength to get him to the passenger side.  He has Sam by the collar and he fumbles to open my door with his other hand.  He shoves Sam inside.

 

Sam is screaming.  I've never heard him scream like this. 

 

 _"NO DEAN!  NO!!!  I HAVE TO GO BACK IN THERE!  NO!"_   He tries to get up again.

 

Dean pushes him back down, "No Sam!  We have to go.  We have to go _NOW_."

 

_"JESS!  SHE'S IN THERE DEAN, I HAVE TO GET HER!"_

 

Dean puts a hand firmly behind Sam's neck, "Sam, stop; just stop; you can't go back there.  It's too late, man," Dean's face mirrors Sam's grief and fear.

 

Sam is sobbing now, but he stops fighting.  Dean gets into my driver's seat and I spring to life with the turn of the key. 

 

We pass at least five firetrucks and two amulances as we speed away from the heat and the smoke.  The wail of the sirens fades as we press into the night.  Dean's driving fast and soon the ground-stars are fewer and farther between and we're speeding through the black nighttime dust of the desert.  The stars in the sky are endless and more numerous than they were up on the overlook.  Neither Sam nor Dean notice or care.

 

Sam doesn't talk for three weeks.  We just drive.

 

Sam never tells Dean about the ring. 

 

\----------------------------------------

 

I'm all Dean has in this world.  Sam and I.  We're a bit of a team where taking care of Dean is concerned and Sam treats me with respect because I’m his home too.  He knows I'm just about the only thing Dean can count on; how rare and valuable that is in this crazy life of ours.  He makes sure I'm taken care of when Dean is too preoccupied to handle it himself, which, luckily, isn't that often, but it can and does happen:

 

"Hey, how long's it been since the last oil change?" Sam asks out of the blue.

 

"I dunno Sam, how long's it been since you had a hit of demon blood?"  Dean's tone is harsh and Sam flinches.  

 

Sam's trying to check the expression on his brother's face, but it's night and he can only get a glimpse here and there when another car drives past, the sweep of the oncoming headlights revealing far less than what Sam is hoping to see; and even then, only for a second.

 

"I told you, I haven't..." Sam sounds tired and ashamed.

 

"And you expect me to believe you after you spent all this time lying to me?!"

 

"I didn't lie.  I just didn't tell you - "

 

"Same difference, Sam." Dean is inscrutable.  His anger is the only thing he's letting Sam see right now.

 

"I fucking _knew_ you'd never understand," Sam shoots back.

 

Suddenly my tires are squealing and I'm eating dust on the shoulder.

 

"You know what I don't understand?" Dean faces Sam now that we've lurched to a halt. "How in the fucking hell you can keep something like that from me.  I'll hand it to you; it's original; it's not pot or coke, but you're nothing but a fucking junkie, Sam.  When did that happen?  How could my brother become a fucking junkie and I'm too blind to see it?"

 

Dean's blaming himself.  Of course.

 

"You didn't see it because I didn't want you to," Sam's anger and shame are simmering below the surface, but he's trying to keep it together.

 

"That's just fucking awesome then.  You have a natural talent for fucking yourself up and making sure I can't help you.  Just...fuck you, Sam."

 

And with that I'm tearing back onto the blacktop and Sam's got a hand on my dash, bracing himself.

 

Dean was consumed with anger for weeks.  It was Sam who finally took me in for an oil change and then endured Dean's grousing about how he hoped some two-bit mechanic didn't forget to screw the oil pan down and he hoped it wasn't completely fucking up my engine now because the shithead probably didn't know what the fuck he was doing.  Probably last in his class in mechanic school and how could Sam take me to a stranger?  But Dean was really only mad at himself for getting too caught up in his disappointment to take care of business.  

 

Sometimes it seems the storms that go on inside my steel frame are worse than the ones I drive through.

 

But like the storms outside, the storms inside pass too.  They always do:

 

*****

 

"You feeling okay?"

 

Dean and Sam are stretched out on my hood.  Careful to distribute their weight evenly so they don't dent me because they're not small guys.  They're big and strong, and, thank Detroit, they're on the same page again.

 

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, turning his head to the side to take a look at his brother. "I think it's out of my system now.  Look, Dean, I'm sorry - "

 

"Shut up, Sam," Dean responds.  "Let's just enjoy this.  You told me this fuckin' meteor shower or whatever doesn't happen every day so more watching and less talking."

 

"Okay.  It's just - " sometimes Sam acts like the need to talk it out is an evolutionary necessity.  If it is, then Sam is apparently more evolved than Dean.

 

Dean turns his head to look at his brother, finally, meeting his eyes.  " 'Just' nothing.  I was there.  I know what happened.  I know what that shit did to you and I know how hard it was to get off of it.  Water under the bridge.  You're getting better.  We're here now.  Let's not rehash it.  Eyes up, c'mon," and Dean points to the sky just in time for Sam to catch the final glimpse of a meteor tail as it flames out.

 

Dean was that way.  Simple.  I mean, he's one of the most complex human beings that ever rolled off God's assembly line, but his view of the world has always been simple. Right and wrong.  Black and white.  Good and evil.  Pie and coffee.  Classic rock and sex.  Me and Sam.  He would tell Sam, if Sam pushed it, and if Dean could actually put it into words, that a hunter's life is too short to keep ripping open old wounds and they need to move on and that that was going to be the only acceptable outcome of this conversation.

 

Sam shakes his head, amazed at his brother's capacity for forgiveness where he was concerned, and so very, _very_  grateful that he could count on it.  He turns his gaze upward and points quickly to another streak in the sky.

 

"Oooo; good one, Sammy," Dean whispers approvingly.

 

And that was the end of that particular storm.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Dean's so good with him.  I have to admit, even better than John was with Dean.  He has Ben standing on a milk crate so he can see where Dean is pointing to my engine, teaching him about all of my moving parts.  Ben concentrates and steals adoring glances at Dean when Dean isn't looking.  It's fucking adorable is what it is.  My engine aches seeing it though; remembering when John was Dean and Dean was Ben.  Realizing how long ago it was.  But, Dean's right; you can't keep wallowing in the past - that's what he's been telling himself lately when he drives me alone on the country roads.  After Dean lets Ben check and adjust the gap on my spark plugs under his careful guidance, I make sure to purr extra smooth for him.

 

"See, Ben?" Dean breaks into a smile, "See how good she sounds?  Good job, kid."

 

The only smile bigger than Dean's is Ben's.

 

Funny how I haven't seen Sam in a long time.  Not since Dean drove me away from that forsaken human junkyard...the one where we arrived with Sam, but didn't leave with him.  Dean sat in my driver's seat with his gun in his mouth that night.  Wasn't the first time, but it was the longest time.  He made noises I'd never heard another human being make; worse than the sound of stripping gears.  Finally he set the gun down on my seat.  

 

I was afraid he would crash me into a tree; either on purpose or because there was just no way he could see the road the way he was crying as he drove.  Then it was suddenly peaceful.  We'd stopped moving.  We were in front a neat little craftsman house (with all this driving around, yes, I know a little something about architecture) and I watched from the driveway as he collapsed into the arms of a woman I'd come to know as Lisa.  

 

Ben started sniffing around my sleek curves soon after, once he saw the way Dean looked at me and once he started wanting to do everything Dean did.  

 

Lisa was good for Dean; safe and dependable and she never let him down.  Dean loved Sam more than anything, but loving his brother like that was exhausting.  Lisa gave him a refuge that turned out to be only a sabbatical.  

 

I thought Dean was happy with Lisa and Ben.  At least that's what I thought until the day he took the cover off me in the garage, climbed into my driver's seat, and shouted out for Cas like he was at the end of his rope.   He must not have slept much the night before, because when Cas didn't show, he fell asleep waiting.

 

By the way, whenever Cas sits in me, I can't feel it.  It's the weirdest thing.  The guy doesn't weigh anything and it took me awhile to figure out it was because he wasn't human like Sam and Dean.  He doesn't use my door to get in and out, just goes _through_ me and the metal of my skeleton feels hot where he chooses to enter and exit.  He feels more like the stuff that courses out of my battery than any human I've ever come across.

 

Dean is sleeping peacefully in my driver's seat. He has no idea...

 

He startles awake. He jumps so high in the seat he almost hits his head on my headliner.  In under a second, the knife, pulled from the top of his boot, is against the throat of the figure sitting next to him until a flash of recognition crosses his face. "Jesus Christ, Cas, you _cannot_ do that!"

 

Cas doesn't even flinch at Dean springing awake, or at the knife held briefly to his throat. "You prayed for me," Cas' voice is calm as he slowly turns to meet Dean's gaze.

 

Dean is breathing hard and even shaking slightly. "How the fuck long were you sitting there?"

 

"Ever since I arrived."

 

"I mean _how many hours_ have you been sitting there?"

 

"About four."

 

"So I was sleeping here for four hours...you could have been anyone sitting next to me...and I never woke up?"

 

"I cannot be 'anyone' Dean, I can only be who I am."

 

Dean rolls his eyes, "I just thought I'd know if someone was sitting right next to me," Dean groused. "And I don't pray."

 

"You prayed for me," Cas points out matter-of-factly.

 

"I called for you," Dean corrects him.

 

"With a prayer," Cas finishes.

 

Dean gives up on arguing, "Why didn't you wake me up?"

 

"You were very tired," Cas turns and resumes looking straight ahead out my windshield. "I have realized that it is easier to talk with you after you have been able to sleep."

 

Dean furrows his brow and then squirms a bit. "Uh, Cas, is there a reason why you're sitting so close to me?"

 

"I thought that this is what you call 'shotgun' and this is where the person who is not driving the car is supposed to sit."

 

"Well, yeah, you're supposed to sit in the front seat, but not in the middle; you're supposed to be over there by the other door," Dean directs.

 

Cas looks confused, "Why does that matter?"

 

"It's called 'personal space', Cas, and it makes me damn uncomfortable if someone is too close." 

 

Cas' expression does not change. "But you do not make Lisa sit over near the door."

 

"That's different," Dean says flatly.

 

"How is that different?" Cas is trying very hard to understand.

 

"Lisa's my girlfriend, Cas. I care about her. She cares about me. It's different."

 

"I care about you - "

 

"I _know_ , and I'm glad you do or I wouldn't be here, but just, please, move over a bit?"

 

Cas shrugs his shoulders and slides over about twelve inches. "Is this better?"

 

"Yeah, that's better."

 

"What did you want to talk about?" Cas looks over at Dean again. "Or did you call because you wanted to explain why I should not sit that close to you?"

 

"No, Cas, of course that's not why I called you." Dean is quiet for several moments before sighing heavily. "I can't stop thinking about him."

 

"About who?"

 

"Sam."

 

A sympathetic expression softens Cas' features, "Sam told you to find Lisa. You are doing what he wanted you to do."

 

"I know," Dean looks off into the distance. "And I'd be dead right now if it weren't for Lisa taking me in. I can never thank her enough and God knows I love Ben - "

 

"I believe He does know that," Cas interjects seriously.

 

"I thought you and God weren't exactly having regular talks these days," Dean huffs.

 

"I have not spoken to our Father in many centuries," Cas' next words have a deliberate finality about them, "but I know that the love you have for Ben, for Lisa, and for Sam is the reason that God created humans.  That part of human ability is His greatest achievement. It has a purity that angels strive for every day."

 

Dean looks at Cas like he's making that up. "Really...angels try to be like humans?"

 

"We try to emulate the best qualities in humans, yes. They are qualities our Father holds in high regard."

 

"You blow my mind, man," Dean shakes his head slightly in disbelief.

 

"I am not trying to 'blow' any part of your body," Cas' brow is furrowed.

 

"Cas, you really need to not say that. Ever."

 

"Why?"

 

"Just trust me and please don't make me explain," Dean pleads.

 

"I do trust you."

 

Dean smiles a small, slightly sad smile. "Yeah, I trust you too."

 

"You wanted to talk about Sam?" Cas prompts him.

 

Dean swallows hard and gives a terse nod of his head. "I've tried, Cas.  I've really tried to have a life here...and things feel safer...and sometimes they feel easier...but it's not right."

 

"What's not 'right'?"

 

"Me. I mean, Lisa's amazing and Ben is...more than I deserve...but I just feel I'm living in some kind of crazy bizarro-world. It's like it's not my life."

 

"And you would rather have a life where you are hunting and killing and never sure if you will live to see the next day?"

 

"When you put it like _that_..." Dean trails off. "It's just, if Sam is down there," Dean is starting to choke up, "he doesn't deserve that."

 

"Sam made his choice," Cas points out. "He made the greatest sacrifice a human can make. You have much to be proud of, Dean. Your brother is a hero."

 

Dean acts like he didn't hear Cas at all. "I can't sit here living this apple-pie life knowing where he is."

 

Cas places a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Sam knew the consequences. He followed his heart. He has a very strong moral center. He is where he needs to be."

 

"He needs to be with _me,_ " Dean brings his hands up to hide is face, the agony evident in his voice.

 

Cas thinks for a minute, "Would it be easier for you if I took it away?"

 

Dean looks up, face streaked with tears, "Took what away?" he asks, cautiously.

 

"Your memories of Sam.  I have that ability.  I can take them away. You would not miss him because you would not know he existed."

 

Dean looks horrified. Then angry. "Don't you ever, _EVER_ fucking suggest that I would be better off never knowing that my brother had ever existed!"

 

Cas is surprised at the intensity of Dean's response, "I only thought that if you did not - "

 

"Well _DON'T_ think it," Dean shoots back, "don't you ever say anything like that again, you hear me?"

 

"Of course I hear you, I am sitting right next to you."

 

 _OW!_ Dean just brought his fist down on my steering wheel making my dash shake.

 

"Damnit, Cas," Dean's voice is loud and frustrated, "I need your help! I'm drinking half a fifth every night after Lisa goes to sleep. I go to work and I just want to walk off the fourth floor scaffolding every single fucking day!" He tries to calm himself down until he can very quietly plead, "I'm begging you, man, if there is anything, _anything_ , you can do to get to Sam...I'll do whatever it takes.  Anything you ask.  _ANYTHING_ ," he looks up at Cas with raw, open honesty, his eyes desperate.

 

Cas has a concerned expression on his face. "Dean, I don't know of anything powerful enough to breach the cage and even if I could - "

 

" _DON'T!_ " Dean puts a hand up to silence him, "Do _not_ say that. I can't hear that right now or I swear to God I'm going to fucking start planning my own suicide. I need you to tell me you'll try."

 

Cas recoils at Dean's threat, bites his lip and looks down. "I will try," he says calmly.

 

Dean's voice is rough when he responds, "Thank you." He reaches out and grasps Cas's shoulder. It seems to steady him.

 

Cas nods solemnly. Suddenly, Dean's hand falls to my seat as Cas' form is replaced by nothing but air followed by a burn in my metal skin where Cas moved through me on his way out. Dean talks to himself as if trying to convince his churning brain of what he just heard, "He's gonna try. He's gonna try." He's repeating it like a mantra. A mantra that might allow him to hold on for one more day. 

 

He checks his watch. Ben is going to be home from school soon. He rubs an arm across his face, drying his eyes on his sleeve, clears his throat, and opens my door.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Cas must have tried because a year after Dean fell into Lisa's arms on her porch,  Sam turned up on her doorstep.

 

And then it happened again.  We drove like bats out of hell to the hospital with Lisa bleeding and Ben passed out and Dean watching them lying there in the rear view more than he was watching the road.  When we left the hospital, they weren't with us, but, thankfully, neither was the weight of their bodies wrapped up in my back seat.  Dean told Sam never to talk about them again or he'd break his nose.  

 

I still don't know why we didn't go home with them that day.  I could have been happy there; settled down with Dean paying attention to me every weekend and teaching Ben how important I was; how to treat me right.  

 

I don't know why we had to leave when Sam showed up.  It looked like a big house.  Big enough for Sam to stay too.  Looked like a mansion compared to the size of my interior and they made do with that for years.

 

I wondered for a long time if Ben ever thought about me.

 

The Sam that showed up at Lisa's and left with us was different.  He felt, I don't know, _heavier_ in my seat.  He hardly ever laughed. Something was wrong with him and that lasted for many months.  

 

Dean was hell-bent on making him better.  He'd given up so much for Sam and he wasn't going to be okay with this shell of a man as a consolation prize.  Sam functioned, but didn't feel.  Dean did a lot of sitting in my front seat and talking to Cas over that one.

 

Somehow, Dean didn't give up on Sam, and Cas, the man-shaped mass of pure energy, helped Sam return to his right mind and his right weight and he took his rightful place again; next to Dean on my front seat.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Every so often, someone other than a Winchester ends up in my passenger seat:

 

"C'mon man, it's been like, what, six months since you took up with Sam again?"

 

"Yeah, about that long," Dean is regarding the skinny guy with the big ears skeptically. "So?"

 

"So...you need to have some fun; let loose a little; c'mon, let's go in.  I could really use a wing man."

 

Dean chuckled a little at that one, "You want _me_ to be your wing man, huh?"

 

"Yeah, totally; I mean, I'm sure I could help you out with the ladies...I've been to this place before; three girls to every guy in there; you can't go wrong."

 

"You want to help _me_ find a woman?" now Dean is smirking and can't seem to stop. "Garth, I'm not really looking right now."

 

The guy with the big ears looks dejected, but he's far more persistent with Dean than Sam is, "Don't undersell yourself man; you're not bad-looking.  I'm sure whoever I leave with tonight will have a friend for you.  Let me help you out."

 

Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head.  This guy has been sitting in here with Dean before.  Dean trusts him and likes the way he never has to guess about what he wants or what he knows; he's really the opposite of Sam.  Dean laughs more freely and more often with him than with anyone else he's ever brought in here.

 

Dean has one eyebrow raised, "You really think you can help a lost cause like me, huh?"

 

Skinny Guy with the big ears doesn't seem to hear the sarcasm in Dean's voice, "Aw, sure, of course, man; don't be so down on yourself.  We just gotta coordinate; you know; have some kind of signal; 'cause we can't both bring a woman back here to the car at the same time and - "

 

"Garth, you are, in no way, ever, and I mean never not-a-chance-in-hell ever bringing a woman back to this car," Dean says stonily.  

 

Skinny Guy looks like he's about to argue but then smiles a sly smile instead.  "You _dawg_ ; you think you're gonna need this car before me, don't you...don't you?" he shoves Dean's shoulder.  

 

Dean looks at him like he's lost his mind, "No, man, actually, that's not really why I said - "

 

"I get it, I get it; you don’t have to play coy with me," Skinny Guy is fairly beaming now, "c'mon; I got a good feeling about tonight, let's go."

 

"You're the only one," Dean mumbles, begrudgingly getting out and following Skinny Guy towards the bar.

 

*****

 

Four hours later, they're both coming at me at a dead run.  They fling open my doors and jump in, pushing me to take off like a rocket, which I'm more than capable of doing, thank you very much.  Skinny Guy has lipstick on his cheek, a little blood dripping from his nose, and Dean is rubbing his right hand as he drives.

 

"Dude, did you _see_ how mad that guy was?" Skinny Guy is almost gleeful.

 

"Well, guys tend to get mad when you're in the corner feeling up their wives, Garth...fuck my hand is killing me," Dean barks.

 

"Yeah, totally; thanks for that, man," Skinny Guy looks so sincere.  "You really had my back in there."

 

"I thought you had a good feeling about tonight," Dean is looking over at Skinny Guy, part annoyed, part angry.

 

"What's not to like?" Skinny Guy says smugly, "I got to second base; how'd you do?"

 

"Just shut up, Garth," Dean grumbles.  

 

"Hey, no hard feelings, right?" Skinny Guy suddenly looks worried.  "I mean, sorry you struck out but you'll do better next time, I know you will."

 

Dean is shaking his head again.  "It’ll be a cold day in hell before there's a next time.”  Then he's unexpectedly laughing and Skinny Guy doesn't know why until he says, "Man, you shoulda seen that guy's face right before I decked him.  I don't think he was expectin' me when he laid into you."

 

Skinny Guy is laughing too now and nodding.  "You're not wrong, dude.  That guy didn't count on my wing man," he claps Dean on the shoulder, his face fairly radiating pride.  "Hey, could you find us a burger somewhere out here in this Godforsaken backwater?"

 

"Yeah, sure, I'll stop first place I see."  Dean chuckles to himself.  "Your nose okay?"

 

"Yeah, it'll be okay," Skinny Guy replies.  "Next time we go somewhere together though, you'll have a much better chance; me lookin' like this."

 

"Did you hear a word I said about next time?" Dean drives until he finds a neon _diner_ sign glowing softly along the side of the road.

 

And Skinny Guy wasn't the only one.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

"Thanks for going in like that for us, Charlie."  Dean is talking to the woman with the long red hair and the nervous laughter.  "We never woulda learned what we did about Roman without you."

 

"No sweat, bitch," she replies, trying to play it off like she's not more scared and nervous than she's probably ever been before; but I can see thorough it.  "Anytime you wanna bag a big Dick, I'm your woman."

 

Dean laughs, spraying a little beer on my steering wheel in the process.  We're sitting outside of what I'm guessing is this new woman's apartment.  Dean offered to drive her home and they stopped to pick up some beer on the way.

 

The redhead takes another drink.  The more she drinks, the more she smiles.

 

"I didn't think you were into dick," Dean thinks he's so clever.

 

"That's what makes it funny, Einstein" she rolls her eyes at him.  "Hey, thanks for getting me through that; I was, um, well, I've never done anything like that before."

 

"You did great, kid," Dean tells her, holding out his bottle so she can click hers against it.  "Here's to taking down this evil motherfucker."

 

She frowns, "Not that I don't trust you, because, obviously, after tonight, I trust you with my damn life, but, uh, it's not like Roman is some kind of regular criminal.  I mean, he has influence everywhere; worldwide; we're talking more than the mob here."

 

"I'm aware," Dean looks curiously over at the woman in the passenger seat, "and just what do you know about the mob?"

 

The woman looks down at the floor and the words come out in a rush, "I, uh, well, a friend I grew up with, we ran the AV club together, he asked me to help him funnel some money electronically into an offshore account, as a 'favor' for one of his clients in his IT consulting job and, hey, he gave me some tickets to Leakycon and Emma Watson was going to be there, fucking _in person_ and I wanted to go _so bad_ and, well, I never knew it was for the mob until I was already involved.  I lied and said I couldn't crack the firewall.  I got out of that as fast as I could."

 

"No shit?" Dean is looking at her with an entirely new appreciation.  "I have no idea what the fuck the rest of what you just said meant, but you were like a mob hacker, huh?"

 

"Unwitting," she bit her bottom lip.

 

"What the fuck is a 'leakycon' anyway?"  Dean sets his empty bottle down on my floorboard and reaches back into the metal cooler with the cool green skin on my back seat for another one.

 

"Harry Potter fan convention," she looks up sheepishly.

 

" _Now_  you're shittin' me, right?"

 

"For your information, Dean, Harry Potter is a _classic_.  I mean, you've read it, right?"

 

"Uh, no, I haven't, but Sam probably did.  He's a total geek like that."

 

"Well, I'm gonna have to have a word with Sam about the huge gap in your education.  I can't believe you never read Harry Potter!" She looks seriously concerned for Dean's intellect.

 

"Whatever," Dean looks like he's pretty sure he'll never understand what she's talking about.  "But you coulda done it, huh...moved the money like they asked...you coulda gotten through that firewall?"

 

"In about eight seconds.  On a slow day."  Now the redhead is smiling with pride.

 

"I think I like you, Charlie Bradbury."

 

"I think I like you too, Dean Winchester," she regards him critically, "even though you could use a trip to the library once in awhile."

 

*****

 

They're still sitting in the car half an hour later and the 6-pack is almost gone.

 

"Okay, okay, I got one for you," the redheaded woman is barely able to speak she's laughing so hard.  "First time you got off, I mean, first time someone other than yourself got you off."

 

Dean sits back in my seat, "Rhonda Hurley.  Right here in this car.  Hand job.  I was fourteen.  You?"

 

"Dana Wagner.  Library storage closet.  Uh, it wasn't her hand though.   I was fifteen."

 

"Jesus," Dean comments, draining the last of his beer.  "No wonder you like libraries so damn much."  He gives her a knowing grin.  "Maybe I _should_ check one out once in awhile."  He's smirking shamelessly.

 

Her expression doesn't even attempt to hide her disgust, "Ugh, could you  _be_ more of a stereotype?  You know, not all female couples are hoping for a guy to join in."

 

"You just keep telling yourself that."

 

"Jesus, Dean!"

 

"Okay, okay; just, let me have my fantasies, alright?"

 

"I would prefer it if your fantasies didn't involve me."

 

"Point taken.  I have way too much respect for you anyway.  Forgiven?"  Dean gives her an irresistible pout.

 

"Forgiven."

 

Dean's face lights up, "Okay, my turn.  First time you stole something."

 

"I've never stolen anything!" she protests.

 

"Liar."

 

A small smile creeps across her face.  "Okay, but, God, I've never told anyone else this before."  Dean leans in closer.  "I stole a magazine once, when I was thirteen."

 

"Popular Science?" Dean asks sarcastically.

 

"Playboy,"  her very pale skin is ripening to a deep red.

 

"No _way_."

 

"Hey, I was curious.  You?"

 

"Playboy.  Swear to God.  I was twelve and I grabbed it at a gas station when my dad wasn't looking.  He thought I'd eaten a bad taco; I spent so much time in the bathroom that night."

 

She dissolves into laughter, smacking her hand on her thigh trying to get it back under control.  Dean's openly laughing too and it's a beautiful and rare sound.

 

"Oh God, Oh God, I needed to laugh like this tonight," she's gulping air and wiping her eyes.

 

"Me too," Dean agrees.  "Thanks for hanging out for awhile, Charlie," he says with a sincerity I rarely hear from him.

 

"Well, just give me a call the next time you want another girl's night out like this."  She gives him a quick hug, then reaches for the door latch.

 

"Definitely," Dean replies, smiling. 

 

He meets up with the redhead a lot over the next few years.  Sometimes to talk about Sam.  Sometimes to talk about a case.  Sometimes to ask for her help.  I liked that she made him smile.  He even  _felt_ different on my seat when he was around her.  He never pulled her into the back with him.  It wasn't like that.

 

There was a bonfire for her too.  Much later.  I don't want to talk about it.  I hate it when they use me like a hearse.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

I like it when they use me to help people.

 

"Just trust me."

 

Sam opens the door for a nervous kid with shaggy hair and bags under his eyes.  The kid sits down heavily, staring straight ahead as Sam gets in behind the wheel.

 

The kid speaks, "I don't want anything to do with this anymore."

 

Sam sighs.  "Look, I know you don't and it's not fair; I know it's not, but you're the only one.  We need you.  You're doing it; you're translating the tablet and you can't give up now."

 

"And why the fuck not?" the kid turns to look at Sam, his eyes darting around.  "What kind of fucking life is this, huh?  I sit in that disgusting, cold, rusty piece of shit boat, I feel like crap, I haven't left to get food in a week, Garth hasn't been around, and I've been living on damn hot dogs and Red Bull which will probably kill me all by itself, I have no friends, I have no internet, I have no life, Sam, I used to have a damn _life_!"

 

"I know, Kevin, I know, and I'm so, so sorry you had to get sucked into this,"

 

" 'Sucked' is right," the kid snorts.

 

"We shouldn't have left you on that boat for so long.  I'm sorry.  We, uh, we had our hands full, but I'm gonna make it up you.  You can stay at the bunker.  We'll get decent take-out.  Dean and I, we'll protect you and we'll make sure you have everything you need."

 

"Including internet?"

 

"Including internet."

 

"Could I get some roasted chicken and maybe even a salad?"

 

"Absolutely."

 

For the first time, the kid has a hint of a smile.  "I'm so tired.  I can't tell you how tired I am."

 

"I know man, I know."

 

"It's like the translating; it's like I can feel it pulling the energy out of me."

 

"We're gonna help you with that, I promise.  Anything you need; just say the word."

 

Out of nowhere, the kid says, "I need my girlfriend to not be dead."

 

"I know how you feel,"  Sam reaches over and lays a hand on the kid's shoulder.

 

"You can't possibly, no chance in hell, know how I feel!" comes the angry reply as he shrugs off Sam's attempt to comfort him.

 

Sam takes a deep breath.  "Look, I'm not saying this to make you feel sorry for me, but a demon killed my girlfriend too."

 

The kid looks surprised.  "When?"

 

"It was a long time ago, but it doesn't get any easier."

 

The kid nods slowly.  "Where'd it happen?"

 

"In my apartment.  At college."

 

"Where was that?"

 

"Stanford."

 

"You're kidding me, right?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Shit.  Stanford was going to be my safety school," the kid says absentmindedly.

 

Sam snorts.  "Safety school, huh?"

 

"Yeah, if Harvard or MIT didn't work out.  Why are you smiling?"

 

"Well, uh, most people don't think of Stanford as a college of last resort."

 

"Uh, yeah, uh, sorry; I didn't mean to sound like a jerk."

 

Sam waves his hand, "I know you didn't."

 

They drive in silence for awhile.

 

"Hey Sam?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Thanks for coming to get me.  I was going crazy on that boat."

 

"You stay with us for as long as you want.  As long as it takes," Sam adds knowingly.

 

The kid looks like he has a new resolve in the set of his mouth, "As long as it takes," he echoes, nodding solemnly.

 

Sam reaches out and roughs up his hair as the kid protests.  But it gets a smile out of him.  "Kev, you're like the little brother I never had."

 

The kid looks down shyly.  "Thanks.  That, uh, that means a lot to me.  I never had a brother."

 

"Don't mention it."

 

They smile at each other.

 

*****

 

Not long after, Sam is lying the kid across my back seat.  Sam has tears in his eyes.  The kid is dead weight. 

 

Not again. 

 

Why does this keep happening? 

 

The kid is slightly lighter than he should be.  Part of him is missing, but just a small part, and he smells like burning flesh, the smell oozes through the sheet he's wrapped in.

 

Dean comes out and gently puts a hand on Sam's shoulder.  "I got this," he says quietly.

 

"Kevin was  _my_ responsibility," Sam spits it out and the words sound bitter and hard.

 

"I got this Sam," Dean repeats.  

 

Sam's strong shoulders sag, utterly defeated.  He suddenly turns and grabs onto Dean, shaking.

 

Dean puts his arms around him, "Shhhh...it's okay, Sammy....I got this.  You've been awake for two days; here," Dean shoves something small and white and round into Sam's hand.

 

Sam looks down, confused.

 

"It'll help you sleep.  It'll take it away; just for now.  You need to sleep.  Just trust me on this."

 

Sam is taller than his brother, but he looks for all the world exactly like he did when he was ten years old as he nods, believing Dean will help him when he needs it the most. 

 

Dean gently shuts my door and leads Sam back to the bunker with an arm around his waist.  It suddenly looks as if Dean is the only thing holding Sam up.

 

Inside, the kid lays across my back seat; still and deathly silent.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Dean found me a proper garage when we made the bunker our home.  I was their only home for so long, but here, Dean had found a home for all three of us and I even got my own room.  I was in there with other cars; much older than I was, but it was dry and warm if a tad boring.  Even when I was parked inside, this family seemed to need me the same way they always had; as somewhere safe:

 

"You can't give up on him."  The voice was kind and came from a woman with short dark hair as she placed a hand on top of Sam's on my front seat.  She had found him out here, sitting behind the wheel in the garage, just staring; his eyes looked red.  She'd opened my passenger door and slid in to face Sam.  

 

"Jody, I don't even know where the hell he _is_ ," Sam sounds desperate.  

 

I had felt Dean's unconscious weight on my back seat (close to dead weight, but there's a difference) a few days before, blood soaking the blanket under him, as Sam drove him home.  When I didn't see him after that, I feared the worst, but there had been no gut-wrenching drive to a bonfire, so maybe he was okay after all...  

 

"I don't even know _what_ he is now."

 

The woman with the caring eyes takes a deep breath, "Yes you do," her voice is firm.

 

" 'yes I do' what?" Sam sounds confused.

 

"He's your brother, Sam.  That's what he is.  I told you that you have something special.  I don't care what you think has a hold of him right now.  You can get to him.  You're probably the only one, but you've always been able to get to him."

 

Sam lets a tear slip.  "I laid him on his bed, Jody.  I couldn't feel a pulse.  I was going to work every Goddamned spell and ritual I could think of and when I went back, he was gone.  Just that stupid note - " Sam's body slumps in my seat and the woman quickly closes the distance between them and puts her arms around him.  Sam softly chokes out, "It's the Mark. It's killing him."

 

She holds Sam tightly, "He also has you and you're gonna save him."

 

Sam's phone rings.  The woman lets go and backs up as Sam fishes it out of his back pocket.

 

"Crowley."  Sam's voice is flat.  "You have him, don't you?"

 

Sam's eyes narrow as he listens to the voice on the other end of the line.  The silence stretches out; it must be a long explanation.  Finally, Sam says into the phone:

 

"Not as easy to control as you thought he'd be, huh?"

 

\--------------------------------------

 

I don't know how she was so sure, but she was, and she was right.  Dean came back to me.  Sam went out and dragged him back even though Dean didn't care if he came back or not.  He didn't care about anything: 

 

"We know how to cure a demon," Sam is driving as fast as he can, my engine roars.  Dean's hands are cuffed behind his back and the metal is digging in to my seat.

 

"Well I think you can go fuck yourself, Sam, 'cause I don't wanna be cured."  Dean stares out my window and pulls at the cuffs. "Just pull the fuck over and let me out.  Go live your life.  Forget about me."

 

Sam presses his lips together and pushes me to go even faster.  "I'm not giving up on you, Dean," he grits his teeth.

 

"Your funeral," Dean can't be bothered with this conversation, "You've got no idea what I'm capable of and I don't give a shit right now whether you live or die so until you wise up and let me go, you're gonna have to watch your back."  

 

What _happened_ to him?  

 

\---------------------------------------

 

The next time Dean and I are alone, he's jumpy.  He keeps rubbing his arm.  But it's _him_.  Whatever Sam did to him in the bunker -  and I heard the howls from the spot where I was parked in the garage - brought him back.  Now he's talking to me, just like John used to.  

 

"I'm so sorry I didn't take care of you."  He lays his palm flat on my dash and looks out the window.  "Guess Sam cleaned up after me," he sighed sharply, "again."  

 

A minute later Sam slides into the passenger seat and smiles a tentative smile at his brother. "You okay to drive?" he asks with concern.

 

"I dunno," Dean replies, "but I'm gonna give it a try."  He seems nervous as he fires me up.  "I wanna hunt Sam.  I'm tryin' to get a handle on this thing and I'm gonna go nuts sitting around the bunker reading about how I can't be cured."

 

"You're going to be cured, Dean."  Sam is more determined than I've ever heard him.

 

Dean doesn't reply.

 

About twenty minutes later Dean is taking his foot off the gas and pulling me over on the shoulder.

 

"Why are we stopping?" Sam is looking around, wondering what he's supposed to be looking at.

 

"I gotta say something," Dean is looking straight ahead out my windshield.

 

"No, Dean, you don't have to say anything.  I know th - "

 

"Sam, just shut up for a minute.  I need to say this."  Sam closes his mouth and Dean slowly turns to face him.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry about how I acted.  It's downright embarrassing."

 

"You weren't yourself, Dean, you were - "

 

Dean shuts him down with a glare.  "Just let me get through this, okay?"

 

Sam nods silently, brows knit together in concern.

 

"I don't know if I can beat this.  This Mark."  Dean can see that it's taking all of Sam's self-control to not jump in.  "If I can't, I don't know what I'll become but chances are good I'll become one hell of a murdering sonofabitch and I just want you to know that, if it takes me, you did everything you could, and if you have to stop me, then that's what you have to do; any way you can."  Dean sighs when he sees tears welling up in Sam's eyes. "You, Sam, you're the only reason I've fought this long."  Sam is shaking his head like he doesn't want to hear what Dean is saying.  "The _only_ reason.  But if I lose this fight - "

 

Sam can't hold it in, "Dean, you're _not_ going to lose; we're going to beat this, we're gonna - "

 

Dean holds up his hand and closes his eyes, "Sam, just...just stop.  If I lose, if I turn into something you don't recognize, just know that you're the best thing I've got in this world. You and my baby here."  Dean's patting my dash, his expression soft and affectionate.  "I hate that you got pulled back into this life.  I wanted so much better for you."  Now Dean is wiping his hand across his eyes.  "No matter what I become, I'll never forget everything you've done for me."

 

Sam fairly launches himself across the short distance between them now and wraps his arms around Dean.  Dean squeezes him tightly and I want nothing more than to protect them and keep them safe forever.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Dean is right to believe in Sam most of the time.  When Sam comes out of the old restaurant, Dean is with him.  Dean's arm doesn’t have a mark on it anymore and they jump in and floor the gas, only to get stuck in a pothole as the black cloud overtakes us.  I have my chance now.  My chance to keep them safe.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

So much has happened since then.  

 

\-------------------------------------

 

I bet you thought I'd have more of an attitude.  I can play that part when necessary.  I can eat up pavement and make people jump when my engine roars.  I get appreciative looks from men and women all the time.  But really, after all of the years I’ve spent with this family, after all the laughter and tears and blood and sex and anger and love that’ve washed across my bench seats...what I'm best at is understanding people.  

 

\------------------------------------

 

Turns out I did see Ben again.  Many years later.  He retrofitted me to run on switchgrass ethanol since they don't sell actual gas anymore.  As he worked on me, he touched me with reverence and he made sure I still had my growl after the upgrade.  Just the way Dean would have wanted.  Dean would have insisted on it.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

I'm driven by John these days.  Yes, John.  Son of Ben, grandson of Dean, great grandson of.....John.  Ben was paying attention all those years ago when he and Dean worked on me and Dean would tell him stories about John that made him sound like some kind of superhero.  Ben knew what he was going to name his first child long before he was old enough to father one.

 

Some things never change.

 

The Legos still rattle in my vents.

 

The Army men are still shoved in the ashtray.

 

There are still some faint initials carved into the back door panel.

 

I'm still being driven by a Winchester.

 

Some things are forever.

 

 

 

Photo taken by Grit_N_Guts and Photoshopped by Incantation67.


End file.
